


A Court of Ink and Smoke

by ProbablyTheQueenofHell



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Mentions of the Inner Circle (ACoTaR), Pre-Canon, as much as it can be tbh, heavily based off of hamilton as in yes straight up lyrics from the songs will be seen in dialogue, like everyone is still Awful but with Reasons, rhysand's dad deserves a story and frankly this is an Energy, this is an emotional roller coaster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-03-08 07:19:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18889840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProbablyTheQueenofHell/pseuds/ProbablyTheQueenofHell
Summary: Less than a thousand years before the Human War, a High Fey bastard from across the sea arrives in the City of Starlight, intent on making his new court a home and his name a legacy. Graced with a fighter's heart and a poet's tongue, he quickly becomes enthralled in the violent foundations of a new court era.





	1. Evander Aureum

All Evander Aureum had to his name was a letter.

Grey water stains flooded the ink print. Script was more apt, the handwriting so fine and precise. He poured over every looping l and swishing y. The clothes on his back were less fine than the perfect curvature of the D in ‘Dear Joanna’.

A letter which had arrived nine years too late.

Joanna was little more than roots and dust by now.

And Evander, well, Evander was penniless. Nameless. Claimless.

Without home, without family, without bloodline.

There weren’t many who started with less.

He was High Fey. He’d admit that as he watched the lesser fey and humans scramble on the ship deck below his balcony perch, so far away from where he and a dozen other High Fey towered over them. He was never subject to the same limitations as them, but he had known their abuses, their desperation.

“You’re in for a treat, my dear guests.” The captain of the ship turned heads as he climbed to the upper deck. So few High Fey had the permission, and the money, to earn a spot. And the captain was certainly milking them for all they were worth. “Velaris is a daydream come to life.”

Evander dragged up a smile and slipped the letter into his pocket. Safely out of view, before muttering low: “People say that about Meridian, too.”

A golden and sapphire city across the sea, where human slaves melted away in markets under hundred-degree heat and bastard orphans starved in the streets. His comment earned a ghosting smile from a female close enough to hear. He offered one of his best back, before lowering his head again.

Best not to draw too much attention at the last minute.

“Now you’re all here for your own reasons, but I am of unique position in regard to the nearest palace. The markets within the city will catch any fancy, and I am happy to-” The captain had a wistful smile as he rambled on about the city's luxuries. An uncommon destination for even his privileged ship, and by far the favorite, Evander could see.

Evander threw a glance down to the dock below, the ship edge swaying between reasonable and broken-ankle distance. Twenty feet at most. Most definitely twenty feet worth the gold he didn’t have in his pockets.

“For those of you that still owe the secondary payment, you will follow me to the dockmaster, who will take down your payment as a loan, and you may repay it within the city.”

What a forgiving system. One Evander still couldn’t afford albeit, though he had to admit the offer was borderline generous.

He took one deep breath, hands laid firmly on the ship railing, and leapt.

A few bounding steps down the dock and he was in the thick of the crowd, the shouting from so far above dying out among the barked orders and yells of the docks. He weaved through the crowd, nearly laughing to himself at what a greasy, cheating rat he must look like, no doubt what the captain was yelling.

“I’ll pay you back!” Evander yelled back, voice carrying even over the din of the market.

A bad call, one that made his pride wince and recoil, but necessary. He couldn’t have a loan shark stalking his every move. He’d lost everything, twice, to that sort of people and he wasn’t eager to allow it again.

 _A rat will eventually find a trap if he steals from the cabinet enough_ , his mother’s voice chided. Which was exactly why he intended to stop being a rat altogether.

A necessity for survival, he told himself as he disappeared further up the docks, the same line he’d been telling himself for years. As the barked orders of the docks fell away to the bartering din of street vendors, he eased into a calmer pace. He learned to barter and swindle and even steal from the best over the years. And he had learned to read people. That captain wouldn’t send the guard, or whatever this city had, after him, no, it simply wasn’t worth the trouble. Especially not with the fake name he provided.

Sweat and sea salt air passed into salted caramel and strong coffee as Evander made his way deeper into the city, the thick crowds melting away into a busy but serene street of bakeries and cafes. The colors were wildly different than his Azurian home.

There, the city had been made to look like a jewelry set, with every delicately carved structure made of shining gold or crystal glass. It couldn’t be more different than the sprawling city he strolled through. Every building seemed conceived by a different artist, some with long brick archways giving welcome to green courtyards and others with high set windows on a white marble front. Rooftops of a thousand colors stretched into the sky. Evander paid mind to slow his pace, settling into a stroll to get to know this city.

It seemed welcoming, he decided, with the laughter of its people and music of its stores drifting out to fill the air.

Each street only opened into another winding journey. Not on a single one did he find beggars to pat his pockets, or children huddled together to hatch a scheme. What did they do with them, in this infamous Night Court.

Perhaps lived up to their ruthlessly efficient reputation and removed such undesirables.

Yet, he could not find a resident that seemed destitute. He could pick out old from new clothes, laborers from wealthy, but no express poverty.

Not the likes of which he had experienced.

He could easily pickpocket any one of these chittering faeries swarming around him. They were all smiling, laughing, so lost in their sun kissed day he was merely a shadow within the crowd. He wouldn’t even have to steal a diamond ring or emerald bracelet, no, only a cheap silver ring off one of these idle hands and he could buy one of those warm, soul mending coffees.

No, he told himself harshly. He’d be lucky if his bet from the docks paid off without consequence. He couldn’t afford the risk in a court he didn’t yet understand. He knew how to survive. He’d practically perfected that art.

Maybe his mother would be a bit proud of that, of him surviving despite the odds. He was never one of the skeletons starving on the streets. And he’d worked honest jobs for the majority of his life, that was true, it’d simply been bad luck they kept falling through.

It did little to ease his conscious.

“Sir.”

Evander nearly broke into a dead sprint, whirling around to face his accuser. He stopped cold. She was just a little lesser fey, a rather nightmarish thing really, with two curling horns sticking out from her gold streaked hair. Like gold tinsel weaved into the black, the strands caught light and made her dark form bright in midday sun.

Sharp gold eyes looked him over, and Evander was glad for a moment he’d decided against stealing.

But the voice that came out was soft, if not gravel-filled and deep. “Are you alright?”

“I- yes, of course, I’m sorry.” Evander started to sidestep towards the crowds, ready to disappear.

She only tilted her head at him. “I don’t mean to bother you, you simply look- well, distraught. Would you like to sit? Take some breakfast?” she offered, nodding towards the empty cafe behind her.

“I couldn’t afford the lint off your apron, miss,” he replied, an immediate smile catching the words. How sweet. How surprising. He hushed the suspicions in the back of his mind, ready to offer a goodbye and escape back into the crowds when she interrupted his thoughts with a deep laugh.

“You’re new, aren’t you?”

He let out a low laugh. “That obvious?”

“Don’t look so startled. Come on in and sit. Breakfast is on me, and a coffee if you manage to lure someone else in.” She waved him forward, opening the glass door to her shop and ushering him in.

Thank you escaped beneath his breath, and he hastily took a seat near the counter.

“Order?”

“I’m not picky,” he said, looking over the shop. It was cute, to put simply. Small wrought iron chairs scattered about, matching the few outside with streaks of green rust. The inside wasn’t nearly as overwhelming as the intoxicating streets. Her shop smelled plainly of slow roasted coffee and faint bacon smoke. The thought made his stomach growl. “My name is Evander,” he called to her as she moved about behind the counter. “Azurian. Fresh off the docks, tragically obvious. You?”

Her lips quirked into a smile, revealing teeth with a few too many canines. “Lamya. Born and raised Night Court, fortunately obviously.” She paused as she went about readying a plate, one that Evander watched with no effort to conceal his hunger. “What’s your story?”

“On a treasure hunt, if you will,” he joked. “I’m trying to track down some extended family of mine. If I could bother you for even more help, where might I go to identify a seal?”

She blinked at him. “A hunter?”

“No no,” he apologized to her with a shake of his head. “A royal seal, the kind you’d stamp a letter with.”

She snatched up the plate and a steaming mug, moving quickly to place it in front of him, as if he were a real customer on a time demand. “The Night Court doesn’t work like Azure. We only have one royal house.”

“The High Lord family, yes? Thank you.”

She nodded. “Ours is the Maahii family. Real fancy family crest, a cat or a moon, each prince picks a variation.”

Evander watched her move back behind the counter with curiosity. “You get a lot of letters from princes?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t mean to offend you!” he said quickly. “I’m used to Azure’s caste system, I’m sorry-”

“I used to work in a lord’s castle before I came here,” she said slowly. “Delivered letters is all. But I don’t know much about it.”

Evander gave a nod of thanks. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Just tell me to shut up if I do.”

She smiled at that, leaning on the counter a bit. “You talk polite for a man with no money.”

“Ah, raised by a rich woman,” he said, shrugging off any further explanation. “But you’ve seen letter seals of this court. What about a star? In black wax?” he asked between bites of the sandwich. He wasn’t taking the time to appreciate the smoked bacon that had him half delirious earlier. He just needed something in his stomach.

Lamya shook her head, losing interest in him and starting to pull out tools from beneath her counter. “I don’t know many high houses by name, sir, save for the one I was raised under, and they didn’t have a star. What are you looking for?”

She threw white powder over the surface and starting to roll dough.

“I have a letter with no sender, I’m afraid. Messy bit of family business.” Evander sighed, picking up the coffee when he was finished with the sandwich. He told himself to remember that, that she'd given him one despite the empty shop. The first drink went straight to his heart, picking it up a few beats and bringing a smile to his face. Warm, thick with cream and nothing like the cheap black bitter drinks he’d be handed on early work days. “Thank you, again.”

“Stop with that, you could use a pick up, clearly… If you’re looking to find a high family, I’d go to the House of Wind. There’s usually a High Fey or two lurking around that could answer.”

“Don’t laugh at my ignorance, but I did arrive, oh, an hour or so ago.”

She shook her head at him, giving the same professional disapproving look Evander was convinced all females were born with as she paused her work. “Do you even know where you are staying?”

“That would be ambitious planning on my part, wouldn’t it,” he said, smiling over the edge of the coffee he was nursing.

He recoiled a bit as she waved her rolling pin at him. “You High Fey males are all the same, from everywhere, thinking everything will just work out without a cent of thinking. You come all the way from Azure chasing family dramas without the money or plan to keep you here.”

Evander couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re certainly concerned for me, aren’t you.”

“I won’t waste free food on a dead man, sir,” she fired back, grinning at him before resuming her rolling. “Besides, fairly sure I was an advisor in another lifetime, rather good one too.”

“Fixing to sort out all my troubles?”

She slapped her palms together, all the flour on them going up in a cloud. “Well now I’m invested, aren’t I? Need you coming back here when you’ve got coins heavy in your pockets.”

“Of course of course,” he laughed out the words, setting the now empty coffee down slowly. “Go on then, educate my foolish self.”

“You’ve got a hell of an attitude for a poor man,” she snipped at him, not an ounce of malice in her voice as she went about with her baking. Evander enjoyed being a neat little piece of gossip to her. She wasn’t asking anything of him, and he very much liked that. “Are you staying in the city?”

“That’s the plan, yes.”

“Gods be merciful, I need a regular customer.”

“Alright alright, I’ll bargain.” Evander waved a hand about the shop. “I’ll buy a coffee here once a week every week I have the money, if you’ll help my poor wanton soul not stumble about the city for a month.”

“Twice a week, if we’re bartering.”

“Twice a week if I’m in this district,” he agreed, settling back into the chair. “Tell me about this wind house.”

Lamya threw her chin in a sharp nod out towards her storefront. “The giant red rock palace in the mountain side. Once you get outside the streets you can see it clear. Brutal climb, but its where most the lords and their servants stay nowadays.”

“Now?” he asked, an eyebrow raising.

She nodded. “It’s the High Lord’s palace, but he hasn’t been here in millennia. Different trusted princes take their turns running the city.”

“And here I thought Velaris was your court’s crown jewel.”

“It is,” she said quickly. “The High Lord is a bit… well, mad.” Her voice dropped low, despite the empty café. “His family helps keep his interests far away from Velaris.”

Evander swallowed his laugh at that. So the Night Court wasn’t as all mighty as they projected to the world. The glass had some cracks behind the smoke. “The High Lord is crazy and his family locks him out of his own city. Bold, to say the least.” Lamya glared at him like she was near to throwing a tray at him. “Forgive me. The Prythian High Lords, particularly yours, have quite the reputation across the sea.”

“As they deserve to,” she said cautiously, her voice slowly coming back to her. “You’d do best to stay out of comments like that. He is the High Lord.”

Evander bowed his head in a show of reverence. “Advice noted. This is my new home though. I’m a bit- quick to bond to it.”

She laughed and shook her head. “You should be quick bonding to a landlord, is what. And a job to put coins in your pocket.”

“Ah the she witch still demands her price. I plead for your aid yet again, great barista.”

She only rolled her eyes at him. “What are you good at besides mouthing off?”

Evander shrugged. “Can learn just about anything. I’ve done some time running shops, managing some ships for a trade company, even wrote a few essays when the patrons were paying.”

“Hmmm. There are some strict rules down at the docks, what with the trade being heavily spelled and all. If you can write though, there’s plenty of printing shops that are always looking for a hand.”

“Books or news?”

“Either, some both as of late. Reading material is in high demand in this city. Come to think of it, I’d go across the river and check into the Steorra shop. Small Velaris newsprinting, but they rent out the loft above them to wayward males.”

Evander blinked innocently, folding his hands under his chin. “Where?”

“Across the Sidra- a giant river that cuts through the city. Keep up this street and you can’t miss it. I won’t bother telling you street by street. You need to learn.”

“I can’t begin to thank you enough,” Evander said as he stood, his tone dropping the playful air into genuine sincerity.

Lamya shot a smile at him, wiping all the extra flour off her counter. “I expect to see you again, sir. With some coin too.”

“Evander, please.” He bowed his head as he stepped towards the door.

“Sir,” she repeated, smile morphing into a slight smirk as she shook her head at him. “Pass along the kindness I had the good grace of giving this morning.”

“I prefer to repay my debts directly. Our bargain holds. I’ll be seeing you again.”

With another polite nod, he left the shop and fell into the easy pace of midday Velaris streets.  

To his disappointment, he found the river rather quickly. The shorelines were much calmer than the market districts behind him, and he could see across the river what seemed to be a residential district.

A mile or so up the opposite shore, he managed to find yet another shopping area, though felt out of place in this one. The stores were more glass fronts and cobblestone streets, the patrons less crowded and more finely dressed. He respectfully kept his distance from most.

After twenty minutes of circling, for this side of the river was pocketed with more alleyways and garden paths than the other, he swallowed his pride and asked for directions.

The hospitality of his savior surprised him, to say the least. He had dealt with many males dressed cheaper that had treated him as a thief. Yet this one had only given directions and offered a welcome to the city.

The letter had mentioned Velaris being a safe haven. Had assured his mother’s ghost it would be a dream for her. And yes, Evander had to admit, his sweet mother would have adored the… charming little city hidden on this coast. It was gentler than the teeth-bared streets of Azure. Yet he was here alone, his head hung, making his way through a city in which he only had a shadow of a heritage claim to be in.

No, his inner voice growled the word at him. He would not fall into the same dark spiral he had seen others. Not after all it had taken to stay alive thus far.

All Evander had was a letter, one with no signature, giving his dead mother instructions to the forbidden city of the Night Court. All the way across the sea from his home, from his life, that’d he’d left in shambles. The Azurian bastard felt like he had conned his way into this city.

 _You could belong here,_ he told himself. He could visit the barista on the other side of the river to gossip once a week. He could track down a letter. And as he approached the storefront of the printing shop, he resolved to himself he would indeed belong.

His knuckles sounded shattering on the glass. He took an entire step back, afraid the panel would crash to the ground before him.

It held steady, and slowly a lesser fey opened the door, giving Evander a once over look before announcing: “You’re here about the room, I presume?”

 _That rhymed,_ a stupid voice chimed. A pretty little habit of upper class fey in Azure, but funny sounding outside their accents. “Yes, sir.”

The faery, an absolutely miniature wrinkled male- male, he thought, guessed at really- huffed at his words and propped open the door to shoo Evander inside. “Rent is four hundred crescents a month, no negotiating.”

“I don’t have that…” Evander trailed off, taking in the ground floor. A massive, archaic machine took up the space, reeking of open ink and ripe metal. And scattered all about were papers, some with black globs absorbing their words and others handwritten.

“No money, no room,” the faery chirped, straightening a particular stack. The entire pile was tossed into the fire without a blink. Evander noticed another stack by his feet with dates over a month passed, carefully stepping around them.

“I- I could work for you, if possible.”

“Don’t need a pair of hands, need coins.”

 _We politely disagree on that,_ he thought.

Another matching faery scurried out into the room. From where, Evander had no idea, but it seemed in much more a rush.

There were thousands of papers here, a hundred more books shoved beneath tables and lost amid stacks. He watched the bitter faery collect more loose paper, while the other went over to the machine. “… I need a place to stay.”

“Don’t need another High Faery with no coin,” the angry one said, again neatly arranging the stacks before destroying them.

The other was prying a frame off the machine. Black flecks of ink went flying, staining a few more pages scattered about. The faery was nearly covered by the panel, the black ink leaking down the sides onto the floor as they staggered to a table.

Evander couldn’t watch. He jumped forward, snatching the frame out of the little creature’s hands before they crashed into something, and placing it gently in a massive vat. “It would seem you do,” he said boldly.

The new faery laughed at that, a sound more like a grating nail on metal, but their entire demeanor changed. A stupid test, to see if he would help, most likely. The faery stared at him, black ink splotching their blank face. “Can you read?”

“Better than the average dog perhaps.”

The other faery was unamused, and Evander bit back his smile. “Do you know how to operate a press?”

“Yes,” he lied.

They both squinted at him.

“No, but I could learn.”

One huffed, marching over to the resting frame and starting to scrub it clean. “You won’t make much.”

“That doesn’t bother me.”

“Your roommate is a prick,” the other chimed.

“Suits me.”

“Then go upstairs and settle. Every day, sunrise to four after midday.”

“Thanks.” Evander grinned, darting around the faery and up the shaking stairs to the floor above.

The loft was miniscule, likely only made for the faeries working below, and Evander had to duck to avoid hitting the doorframe. A tiny room made only of matching sets of beds, trunks, and a side table.

Without hesitation, Evander collapsed onto the unclaimed bed. The mattress creaked, and the pillow was stiff, and the blanket was made of steel wool, but it was a bed.

He kicked off his shoes and sprawled out beneath the covers, the exhaustion of the day creeping up on him as his thumb moved over the letter in his pocket. A job, a breakfast, a room to stay in, a non-hostile ally, all in all a damn good day. A damn good day.

He may not eat tomorrow, but he would this week. He had somewhere to sleep for the night and the nights after. His life for the next few hours was secure.

As Evander’s eyes dragged close, he let his thoughts run wild, fingertip tracing the lines of the seal in his pocket. A black, six-point star, the meaning of which he promised himself he would discover.

A ticket of entry to Velaris. If its contents really did give him a home in this court, then so be it. The Night Court was to be his new home. This letter gave him a purpose. To find someone, to find the place he perhaps could earn in this court, and he hoped against hope it was a halfway decent one.

But most of all it gave him a root. The right to belong in this odd, whimsical fantasy of a city.

A root. A purpose. Perhaps the first one in his life.

 


	2. Wrote My Way Out

“I still think this is a stupid idea.”    

Evander smoothed his coat collar in the mirror. A dark grey military-style coat hung over a violet shirt beneath, lined neatly with gold buttons. The rich purple looked good on him, he decided. Made him look worth something. If only the shirt didn’t fit so loose. “Then you shouldn’t have enabled me.”

Aeron tilted his head, a smile passing as he watched Evander fidget in the mirror. He was the generous benefactor of Evander’s charade appearance, and no doubt mildly proud of his work. He seemed about to compliment Evander before a foot lashed out to kick his heels, shooing Evander from his own reflection. “You can’t live above the press forever. Doesn’t mean I approve of this venture. Figured I’d do you the honor of letting you shoot your own foot first.”

“You almost sound worried for me.”

Aeron snorted a laugh. He fell silent as two other fey passed by, nodding politely in greeting but watching them as they passed. As he watched the figures disappear down the hallway, his expression darkened. His tone dropped lower. “You’re new, and I like you, my friend. Truly. I don’t want to see you lose your head.”

Evander sighed. “I’m trying to get a trading charter job, not join the military.”

“You are sympathetic to the rebellion,” Aeron breathed the words out, so low Evander almost couldn’t hear them. “You don’t even pretend to hide it.” Aeron glanced back down the hallway, and Evander resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “You can say whatever you want working down at the print shop. It’s Velaris. They’re generous about those kinds of things. But not outside. They will execute you, Evander.”

“I know that,” Evander said, voice of matter of fact. They were barely a few miles outside the city, farther down the coast in a province called Duskglow. He’d gotten to know the court much better these last few months, especially combing through all the editorials and submissions the newspaper received every day. It had, unfortunately, also led to his rather strong opinions on the dissent within the court regarding the lunatic High Lord. “I know. But I can’t spend the rest of the century arranging letters on an ink press. I know my way around money. I can use that.”

Aeron huffed out his disagreement. “I wish you luck.”

Evander beamed a smile. “I appreciate that.”

Far down the hall, the double doors opened, and Aeron stiffened at the sight.

A tall man stood in the doorway. Thick built, tied back blond hair, and the heavy navy-blue coat of a military officer outlining his frame. He didn’t waste a second even passing his eyes over Aeron. “Evander,” he called, and opened the door slightly farther.

Evander spared a last glance to his friend, though Aeron only watched the man in the doorway, eyes narrowing in… disgust, Evander realized, at the lack of acknowledgement.

“Evander.” The man repeated, much colder. Evander snapped back, giving his best sorry sir before heading towards the door.

Evander wasn’t a foot inside the room before he heard the double doors slam behind him, the man moving quickly around his long oak desk to take a seat.

The entire back wall was glass. Crystal opened up the office to the entire bay outside, seeming only a breath away from letting the viewer plunge off to the shipyard below.

Evander stepped forward slowly, half concerned the kind of mark his boots would leave on the crushed golden carpet. The entire room was golden and white, with a scale pattern dancing across the carved limbs of the desk and chairs before it. Nothing graced the wooden walls. For an office it felt barren, with nothing save the charts and papers on the man’s desk to decorate it.

Evander almost tripped into the seat, realizing the faery was watching him silently. High Fey, with severe angles to his face that didn’t lend themselves to an easy life. Evander secretly sort of liked that. This man clearly wasn’t born into fortune.

He picked up a few sheets up paper, no doubt the information Evander had sent in. “Dmitri Dragomir. Evander. Family name?”

Evander drew in the breath he needed. “Aureum.”

“Azurian bastard?”

Evander bristled at the insult but swallowed the bite back. “Yes, sir.”

“Night Court?”

Evander blinked. No one talked so clipped- Not from the Night Court. He had an accent in those coarse words. Someone from the mainland, just like himself. “Only as of six months ago, sir. My father is from here. I’ve been staying in Velaris.”

“Secret spells mean nothing to you?” Dmitri’s eyes narrowed slightly, looking over Evander in appraisal.

“No- I mean, yes, sir, they do, they obviously work I just- you trade with the city, so.”

A flicker of a smile passed over his face at Evander’s panic. He cursed himself for being so easily flustered. “How old are you?”

He debated lying. He really did. Something told him it wouldn’t go well. “Nineteen, sir.”

Dmitri didn’t look surprised. “You know you aren’t fit for this.”

“I am, sir,” Evander said quickly, leaning forward in his chair. “I was raised in the docks off Meridian. I know I’m young, but I worked in a trading company for three years. Kept the numbers- I managed the financials for over fifty routes, ensured we kept a profit.”

“Can’t run entire system,” Dmitri said, leaning back in his chair. Evander bit back the argument. Plotting charters was for captains. Analyzing goods wasn’t hard. He had the hard part well understood. Dmitri waved a hand out to the sprawl of ships below. “Doubt you could run a ship.”

Evander rocked forward again in the chair. “I could,” he fired back. “I managed books on the mainland, kept track of interests and tax and margin losses in deals with fifteen countries. You only trade within Prythian and the western coasts. You’re asking for someone to run a hundred ships, not just sail one.”

“You write better than you talk.” Dmitri didn’t seem impressed.

“Its more practiced,” Evander gritted out, settling farther back into the chair.

“The world doesn’t run on writing.”

Evander’s heart was racing, but he swallowed it. Gods he needed this job. “I won’t back down in any negotiation, if that’s your concern. I can hold my own in conversation sir, I assure you.”

 Dmitri leveled a long, patient look at Evander, letting the silence hang between them. Evander barely breathed. “Half my contacts wouldn’t speak with an Aureum.”

 _There it is_. “I’ll make them.”

Dmitri laughed. It too was a clipped, harsh sound. “You’re not worth the gold on your jacket, feyling.”

Evander shot to his feet. “I am a High Fey.”

“Wearing clothes that don’t belong to you.” Dmitri’s expression didn’t even flicker.

“Please,” his voice cracked on the word. “Give me a shot. I’ll prove you wrong.”

“Aureum,” Dmitri repeated with a shake of his head. “I have two hundred ordered around on ships. None of their captains would take orders from one.”

“None of them can read either, I’m sure. Sir, please, I can teach myself anything, I know it, and I know half the languages on the mainland-”

Dmitri stood up, and Evander almost sat down. His voice didn’t change a note. “A piece of advice, feyling.” Evander’s heart sank as he watched Dmitri move around him towards the doors, opening them to an empty hallway. “Do not beg once you’ve lost.”

 

           

“He SAID THAT. To my _face_ , Aeron, the fucking hardass uptight son of a-”

“Careful,” Aeron warned, “We’re related.”

Evander nearly dropped his drink, freezing in the middle of his pacing. “You’re. What.”

“He’s my older brother,” Aeron said, knocking back the rest of his glass. “Apologies, I would have warned you if I’d known he’d taken over.”

Evander collapsed against the bed opposite of Aeron’s, their cramped space above the printing press serving as housing or private bar depending on necessity. “You’re nothing alike,” Evander managed, scrounging for something aside a direct insult. And they looked nothing alike, except for being intimidatingly large. Aeron had near black hair, just long enough to slick back and tie up away from his face, and a much rougher built face. He was the type of man Evander would bet on in a bar fight. Dmitri was the type he’d bet on in a duel.

Aeron laughed low. “Don’t I know it. Dmitri’s the lord of Duskglow, when he’s not making us filthy rich or winning glory on the battlefield. Kicked me out the day our father died.”

Evander watched his friend carefully. He had never seen Aeron in a dark mood, and he wasn’t quite there yet, but the potential had arisen for the first time. “Why?”

“Oh, I was a good for nothing lazy prick, to be sure.” Aeron snapped his fingers and summoned another full glass of scotch. “He and my other brother are proper officers in the army.”

Evander’s mouth quirked into a smile. “You’re in the army.”

“Not for those assholes, I’m not,” Aeron said, his own smile creeping out for a moment. “Dmitri is a few centuries older than me, and I’d be damned if I was taking orders from him my whole life. So I left. I am so sorry by the way. I really would have warned you.”

Evander waved a hand to wave the worries away. “I survived.”

“Course, I just… I knew what it meant to you, to get out of here.”

“From all the books I could ever want? Please!” Evander sighed, falling back flat on his back against the pillows. “It was the only offer that answered me. The only one.”

“To be fair, I think my niece could kick your ass in a fight.”

Evander sat back up, shaking his head. “I know, I know, my magic is about on level with a five-year-old. We just- don’t use it where I’m from.” Magic was considered an art form rather than a practicality in Azure. A glorified way of making sure its mastery was taught only to the highest social castes, Evander thought, but the social standard all the same.

Aeron used his drink to accentuate: “Alright, alright, you know about my asshole family now. What about yours?”

Evander laughed through his nose. “Is that how this works?”

“Oh yes that is how this works. I’ve been waiting six months to get a crack at your tragic backstory.” Aeron had a grin across his face, his somber mood gone in an instant. “So I know daddy disappeared.”

Evander barked out a laugh, taking a long drink first. “From before I could read. Left my mom with nothing, forced us to move in with a low blood family that ran a tourist shop. I can’t remember much from before, only what my mom talked about. But all those memories got messed up with how fighting mad she was.”

Aeron tilted his head. “Low blood?”

“Yeah, sorry, it’s a very Azure system. All High Fey aren’t equal over there. A messy system based on blood and lineage and family history. Kinda like-” he paused on the comparison, having to swallow the words. “Like dog breeding, I guess. My mom used to be high blood, till my father accused her of adultery and left us. And as far as Azure is concerned, that’s as good as a dog attacking a child.”

Aeron took a slow drink. “It’s similar, outside Velaris. Strict bloodline rules.”

“Can I… ask…”

“You’re going to anyway, so go ahead.”

“Are you and Dmitri full blood siblings?”

“Unfortunately, down to every drop. Our family isn’t from here, though.”

“Oh?” Both of Evander’s eyebrows raised so high, Aeron almost howled laughing.

“Yeah yeah, I know, Dmitri was a dick. He thinks the only two countries that count for anything are Prythian and Kalivaya. Raised on the continent, if you couldn’t tell.”

“How the hell did you get here?”

Aeron went still for a second, and Evander nearly spoke again, but the words came out slowly. “Dmitri helped put the previous Night Court High Lord on the throne.”

Evander slammed his glass onto his bedside table, shooting to his feet. “What?”

“Hush, you’re like a goddamn puppy. You’re gonna wake the whole street.”

Evander hissed his whisper. “What the hell did he do?”

“My family has very strong magic, which we use sparingly, and Dmitri threw his support to one of the princes millenia ago. There was a bloody mess in the Night Court over two dueling brothers. And Dmitri had some hunting friends in Duskglow for summers. When it came to a war, Dmitri fought, and the High Lord made us the lords of Duskglow.”

“Your brother is responsible for-”

“The lunatic we call a High Lord now, I know.” Aeron’s words came out as a growl. “Believe me, the one before was normal.”

“Your brother still serves in his army.”

“My brother takes vows a bit seriously for my taste,” Aeron said, rolling his eyes. “As far as Dmitri’s concerned, he’s sworn to whoever sits the throne in Hewn City.”

“Diarmad is a psychopath.” The stories of the last few months swirled in Evander’s alcohol-rampant thoughts. Executions of entire families for conspiracy accusations, starvation in the outer provinces, heavy tithes and extortion of any lord with coins to rub together that caught his eye. Not to mention the rumors Diarmad was in the pocket of a few privileged families. Not to mention the rumors the godlike High family was going dead broke.

“Don’t you start,” Aeron said, watching Evander begin to pace his feelings away. “We’re on the same side.”

“And your other brother?”

“Haven’t heard from him in centuries. We’re not overly close, if you can’t tell.”

Evander snorted. “Yeah, I managed that one for myself.”

“Your mom still alive?” Aeron asked, knocking back half his drink.

Evander shook his head. “Plague. Started with the humans, but then some demi-fey caught it and it ripped through the fey population. We both caught it, only I lived through the week and she… It was bad. But I figured it out without her.”

Aeron was watching him carefully. “How old were you?”

“Nine, ten maybe. I’ll be honest Aeron, I’m only pretty sure I turned nineteen this year,” Evander said with a laugh, reaching over to fetch his drink again before collapsing onto his bed. “I was better off than most. I could read and write. That got me through enough work to eat, submitting things to every paper I could find.” As far as Evander considered it, he had written his way out of hell. Those papers had kept him fed most weeks. And kept him waking up most days. 

“You are decent at it. Oh don’t give me that look, I see what you sneak into the papers-”

Evander couldn’t help his grin. “Only when there’s room.”

“Oh bullshit. You take out whatever you want.”

“With reason.”

“When you think you’re better than them,” Aeron said, a smirk fixed on his face.

“When I know I am?”

That got a solid laugh out of them both, and Evander tried for a moment to snatch that warm feeling, to stow it away for later.

“Your dad?” Aeron asked after a moment.

Evander only shook his head again. “Disappeared practically overnight, haven’t heard from since. Only found out he wasn’t my real dad right before coming here. Guess he figured out something about me as I got older…”

Aeron shifted, leaning to sit on the edge of his bed. “Woah woah woah, back up, so real dad is Night Court. And you discovered this?”

“Letter. Here,” Evander got up, riffling through the desk until he pulled out the envelope. He tossed it to Aeron half-heartedly. “Bastard finally remembered my mom, maybe when he sobered up after nineteen years of who knows what. Got me into the court but doesn’t do my Aureum ass a damn thing.”

“There’s a black star seal.”

“Took it up to the House of Wind even, second day I was here. Got in a fistfight with the prick who escorted me out. But none of them recognized it. You?”

Aeron examined the seal, then the handwriting, before shaking his head. “The only family that has a star crest is Orinn, but it has way more points than this. And I don’t think any of them have left the court in centuries.”

Evander forced a smile. “Couldn’t have disappointed me, really, there’s not much to go off of.”

“I haven’t been to the Hewn City in over a century, Evander, court sigils change, people take personal ones.” Aeron paused, turning the letter back into Evander’s hands. “You know, I may have a friend who can help.”

“Is this going to be like your library worker friend because I am _not-_ ”

“No, no, no, nothing like that. I just know someone who- well, it’s his business to know other someones.”


	3. Keir Maahii, sir

“Pardon me, are you Keir Maahii, sir?”

Evander’s heart was already racing, but oh if it could afford another few beats.

The steely bronze eyes of the faery in front of him narrowed, flitting over him in a quick judgement. Disheveled golden hair, clothes stained with ink blots and overdue for washing- no, not the sort Keir would associate with. Evander had to recover this quickly, he knew, but…

Keir gave his response in a measured tone. “That depends, who’s asking?”

Better than he’d hoped for.

Before a response could even start, Keir had turned away and continued walking up the white Velaris streets. In all black, he stuck out like a wolf in the sheep pen, but it at least made him easy to follow.

Evander raced to his side, nearly cutting him off by stepping ahead of him.

“Of course, of course, I’m Evander Aureum,” he introduced himself, bowing his head for a heartbeat before leaping into his next sentence. “I heard your name from a friend of mine. I’ve been looking for you-”

“I’m getting nervous,” he said, a ghost of a laugh underneath the words.

 _A resting tiger would look more nervous_ , Evander thought. People _moved_ out of the way for Keir, bumping shoulders against Evander as he fought to stay by his side. 

Keir was, after all, part of the ruling family of the court. And walked like it. And was notably absent from Hewn City. In Velaris of all places, the center spark of the brewing revolution. More than one rumor circulated which side he was on.

 “I was hoping- well see, I need some help identifying something, and I sort of got into some trouble with a friend of yours.” Oh no. Keir looked bored, maybe even affronted at his audacity to cut him off. This was one of the lords- princes, oh whatever the hell they were called. “I may have punched him- it’s a blur, sir. He handles the correspondence?”

Keir paused his footsteps, glancing over at Evander. Dead silence hung between the two.

Never mind that the street was crowded with a hundred other passerby.

Keir just stared at him. One eyebrow had barely started to raise.

“You… punched the steward?”

“Yes!” Keir took a half-step back at the explosive response. Evander laughed at his own tone. “Look, he deserved it. I’m trying to identify this sigil and he looked at me like I was stupid, I’m _not_ stupid-” Keir turned to keep walking. Evander, not to be deterred, launched into step beside him. “I’m only trying to track down who this letter I have might be from. And I was told you’re the man to see, but you’d never been to Velaris before now and- why are you in Velaris?”

Keir didn’t seem particularly bothered, at least not enough to make him go away. But his tone was so even, controlled, he was taking so long to think through… “It was my parents dying wish before they passed,” he said softly.

“You’re an orphan!” Evander nearly jumped in front of him again but refrained. “I’m an orphan!” He paused a heartbeat, swallowed his breath. “I’m sorry, I’ve been looking for you awhile. I’ve only been in the city-”

“A year or so, yes, I can tell. Azurian accent?” Keir had a flicker of a smile.

“Yes, I’m working on it, unimportant. I’ve been trying to advance but-”

“Aureum, wasn’t it. No one is keen to offer a bastard much of anything?”

Evander felt himself smile back. “Course not. I tried getting a few proper jobs within Velaris but they say I need a few more years to be…”

“Polished, naturally. I know Velaris is more liberal than other provinces but… No matter, I suppose they want you to prove yourself first.”

Evander jumped on the first pause Keir took. “You know, I wish this revolution would come to a real war, then I could join and prove I’m worth more than any of those uptight pompous pricks bargained for!”

Keir laughed, seemingly against his own surprise. “Could I buy you a drink?”

Evander beamed his best smile. “That would be nice.”

“Let’s see this letter.”

“Oh! Of course, sir.” Evander handed it over without pause, letting Keir flip it in his hand once.

“I’ve never seen the sigil,” he said immediately. “But the wax is definitely from the Night Court, so it wasn’t likely sent from outside the borders. I don’t know the writing either. Nothing particularly distinctive.”

Evander just watched Keir as he folded the letter neatly back into the envelope. That was it. Five seconds worth of analysis. “Is there… anything else you can guess at?”

“That you may want to stay at your printing shop job,” Keir said, eyes flitting to the letter testing marks stained on Evander’s hand from that morning.

 _Mildly impressive,_ Evander admitted.  

“I think it’s the only place I’ve got right now. I don’t have the name or family to get me anywhere else,” Evander said.

“No, but you certainly have nerve don’t you, talking so boldly to a stranger.”

Evander laughed. Keir’s demeanor made it seem easy, like he wanted to joke but had to lace it in cold politeness. Evander had no such constraints. “Let’s just say I didn’t grow up with a lot of manners.”

Keir looped an arm around Evander’s shoulders, steering him away from the thick of the crowd towards the line of uptown bars and clubs. “While we’re talking, let me offer you some free advice.”

Perhaps easier to swallow from this faery than the last.

Keir’s clothes were so… neat. And new. Evander felt like he was contaminating them just by contact. He was barely listening to that smooth, even voice when-

“Talk. Less.”

“What?” Evander almost stumbled over the doorstep.

Keir dropped his arm away as they entered a bar. His canines were just barely visible under the slight smile. “Smile more. You’re a bit- too much. I can help you, but… You won’t make many allies by scaring them all off or getting mauled in the street.”

Evander gawked at him. Completely unbothered, Keir snapped his fingers and summoned a gold coin. A _solid gold_ coin onto the counter, enough to buy drinks for the entire night. Evander somehow doubted this man even dealt in silver crescents. “You-” _Royal family,_ a voice chimed in Evander’s head. “You can’t be serious.”

Keir only shrugged, sliding a drink towards Evander. It was midnight blue and swirled with bright orange. It smelled like blackout.

“You want to get ahead?”

Evander paused with the drink on his lips. “Yes.”

Keir leaned in closer, those bronze eyes meeting his. He spoke slowly, in a measured tone. “Fools who run their mouths off wind up dead.”

Evander jumped as the double doors of the bar were kicked in.

Keir only leaned back against the bar, raising a drink in gesture as he muttered: “As I said.”

Evander blinked at the faery that came crashing in. He had to be absolutely trashed, and it was barely 6 in the afternoon. Within seconds, he had his foot on a chair, leaning almost over it as he began ranting about soldiers. He’d… beat up… outside…

The bartender, a High Fey himself, narrowed his eyes and growled out the words. “If they come in here for you again, Callum, I’m handing you over myself.”

The chair clattered to floor, much to the amusement of the other laughing patrons, though Evander realized just how empty the bar was for the beginning of an evening. The faery sauntered over to the counter, a few feet away from where Keir and Evander sat, and smacked three silvers down onto the table. “For. Your troubles.”

The bartender only rolled his eyes, swiping up the crescents and moving farther down the table.

Evander couldn’t help his slight smirk. Good to see drunks everywhere in the world were the same. A common street brawler, it seemed, in shabby leathers that barely served as fighting gear, and a sword of questionable sharpness at his hip. His black hair was a mess, not long enough to pull back or short enough to be out of the way. His face was worn, marred with not one but several scars across his jaw and cheeks, as if several glancing blows had nearly claimed his life.

Evander didn’t even bother to hide his interest. He’d been in the city over eight months and hadn’t found one man that looked like this. His grin spread wider when the male began unabashedly flirting with one of the women. Not his first attempt, from her relaxed disgust.

He spared a glance to his new friend…  

Keir was unamused by the antics, focusing on his drink while the drunken faery settled at a nearby table with some water the bartender had forced into his hand.

Just as Evander opened his mouth, another High Fey spun into the bar, doors barely opening as he slipped past them. Definitely not drunk, Evander noted, watching the tall fey gracefully weave underneath a server’s dish held high in the air. He muttered some foreign words of apology and leaned against the bar to order, all in one fluid motion.

“Join the revolution?” Keir mused.

Evander’s attention snapped back to Keir. He needed this prince to like him, and he could smell the opportunity in the air. This was also the sort of talk getting fey throats slashed in the night, according to the reports being sent in.

But all the gods damn him if he didn’t speak his mind. He’d picked the honest path in this court, and he was going to hold to it.

“Yes.”

An unpopular stance in the court. A dangerous one. But rumor had it Keir…

Keir swirled his drink, something smoky purple well outside of Evander’s price. “What does a bastard from Azure have to die for in a Night Court squabble?”

Evander straightened up a bit, setting down his own drink. “I live here now, it’s my court as much as anyone else’s.”

“And have you the faintest concept of what these revolts are over?”

“Injustice. Extortion. A cruel High Lord delighting in the suffering of his people,” Evander said.

Keir scoffed his laugh, taking a drink. “The Court of Nightmares has and will always live up to its reputation, as will its High Lord. No one gives a damn if the High Lord is wicked or not.”

“They do when its without reason!” Evander snapped back.

Keir was as unruffled as a raptor. “Oh, no one much minded before when the High Lord did as he wished.”

Evander stared in shock. “Diarmad punishes demons in his head more than the very real ones in his courtiers hearts. He sees treachery and deceit in shadows on the wall and real men are losing their lives every day for it.” The words tumbled out without pause, and Evander found himself on his feet, using his hands to talk. “Just last week he had a village in Nila burned, and parrot all the defenses you please but there is no hiding he used the ashes to gather every bit of gold that lord was using to keep his people fed. He doesn’t even make an attempt to hide the butchery of his own people to steal their gold, and the rest of watch as he throws it away on a _thousand men personal_ guard. It is a matter of time before he burns this starlight city to the ground for imagined nightmares within its walls, and his own damn family knows it!

“A prince’s blood decorated Hewn City for a week because Diarmad’s own nephew had the audacity to laugh at his drunken uncle, so he has no regard for his own house. If you think you’re safe just because you have High blood, then you haven’t been paying attention! Half of his army refused to march to Hewn City, the commanders openly tell us they were summoned to their own executions, and it is a matter of their survival when the High Lord comes after them. There will be a revolution in this century-”

“To the revolution!” The howling chorus stopped Evander cold.

The rest of his sentence came out a tumble of nonsensical words.

A few of the bar patrons had raised their glass before dying down into excited chatter. They agreed with him. No one looked shocked or upset over his tirade. They just… raised their drinks and resumed talking.

“Brave words to a Night Court Prince,” the graceful newcomer said, grinning as he leaned against the bar beside Keir. His clothes were radically different than any of the Night Court fashion Evander had seen. The burnt orange and reds were out of place. Evander’s head was spinning to figure out where he was from when the stranger leaned over to loudly whisper. “Watch your tongue, my new friend, we still think Keir may be a spy.”

Keir rolled his eyes. “You’d have been dead long ago if so Narcisse.”

“Blood ties are hard to break,” Narcisse said languidly.

The laughter died to whispering. Narcisse’s eyes tracked Keir’s every micro expression.

Evander slowly rose to his feet. He’d gotten distracted in the expensive drink and faery show. He raced to play catch up. Why did Keir bring him here? Bait him into- bait him. Into ranting about the revolution. But this man clearly seemed on his side- so was Keir, it seemed.

Keir didn’t even grace Narcisse’s challenging stare with a glance up. He swirled his drink once again and only offered: “You seemed to have done just fine.”

Evander could only stare. Keir was so. Calm. Evander had seen bloodbaths over far less than loyalty questions.

Loyalty questions. _Holy shit,_ Evander thought as he settled fully back into his seat.

Evander dared a glance over the room. How stupid he must look, half wonderstruck. Keir had brought him to a revolutionary bar, meeting, whatever this was.

Narcisse’s eyes flicked over Keir once more, seemingly content with whatever brief challenge had passed, and he ordered himself another drink.

In an instant, the tension vanished. As if some silent agreement had passed.

“I see we’ve managed to keep Callum alive another day,” Narcisse said with a grin, raising his glass to the nearby table. “And found a new youngling for the cause.”

Keir didn’t waver a moment. “Gentlemen, this is Evander Aureum.” Keir made the words sound like ‘let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’ “He is, clearly, rather sympathetic to your cause.”

“Your cause too, Keir,” a familiar voice grumbled. Evander stilled as another High Fey approached the table. Big. A bit taller than the three of them but heavily muscled under a deep violet military coat. A freakish skull, almost like a horse’s, served as the emblem below his shoulder. The chair screeched when he sat down next to Callum.

Evander nearly couldn’t recognize Aeron even once he pulled the hood off. He shot Evander a quick smile before asking Callum about the condition of his sobriety.

Keir set down his empty glass and snapped Evander’s attention back to the bar. “I am sympathetic to a notion, a concept, if you will. But there is no revolution in the Night Court at this moment.”

“Your companion is right. When Diarmad threatens the army’s lives, they will fight,” Callum slurred the words.

“And it will be the Night Court’s best opportunity to be rid of their High Lord,” Narcisse said, face flickering into a catlike smile.

“You are forgetting,” Aeron interrupted, raking a hand back through his untied hair. “The ‘army’ of the Night Court is little more than weaponized males given vague direction. We avoid wars for a reason.”

“On foreign land,” Narcisse countered. “Any soldier will fight for their life and home harder than a conquest.”

“I wouldn’t grace them with the title soldier,” Keir sighed. “The Night Court army has on every occasion in the last twenty centuries fallen apart things go wrong. We delight in a winning fight, not a martyrful slaughter.”

Evander tilted his head as he watched Keir talk. Before he could say anything, Callum beat him to it. “You just don’t want to fight your own family, go on and admit it.”

“I have no love for them,” Keir said smoothly. “You all know it. My point is only there is no revolution, only unrest.”

Yet he was here. In this bar.

“For either side to accomplish anything more than a bloodbath, they would need many more sympathizers, and without that shift, the High Lord will unequivocally win any dispute in the end,” Keir continued.  

Narcisse’s glass hit the counter with a clatter. “Allies gather every day in the shadows against your demented family, yet you stall. Why?”

“… If you stand for nothing Keir, what’ll you fall for?”

 


	4. Update/Warning

Hello all! 

So, in the course of doing some serious plotting and planning for this fic, I realized I had some pretty solid ideas outside of those inspired by musicals. Long story short, I decided to see what I can do with this fic as an original plot ACOTAR story rather than strictly musical inspired. Still going to be a prequel, still going to be about my disaster fool Evander, but the plot and backstories are being significantly changed to flow as smoothly as possible with canon and feel like an ACOTAR extension. Tragically, I am in the thick of college right now, and there won't be constant updates for a hot minute. BUT I am currently writing the new version, it'll be thoroughly researched and edited, and hopefully a quality reading experience for everyone in ACOTAR remission since the series has ended. It WILL be posted. Someday. I'll leave these chapters up for now, but I assure you as soon as I have some comprehensive beginning chapters, this story will be up and rolling again. 

Hope to see y'all on the other side


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